Finnish Wingsuiter Sets Benchmarks in Human Flight

How a Finnish wingsuiter is setting odd new benchmarks in human flight.

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"In this kind of weather, if you land in the water, you're going to die," Visa Parviainen said to the hot air balloon's pilot. Parviainen was clinging to the balloon's basket last autumn, flying high above the small lakes near Lahti, Finland, on his way toward 7000 ft. His plan upon reaching that height was to detach himself from the balloon and fly over the landscape, as parallel to it as possible. In preparation for this event he had outfitted himself in a black helmet with small, sweptback wings--or possibly ears--giving him the appearance of a not-too-distant cousin of Mighty Mouse. The resemblance was enhanced by the larger wings attached to his suit--a red BirdMan S3 wingsuit, to be exact. On his feet he wore boots with a patch that read "Danger."

The footwear was aptly labeled. Wingsuits are by now a common sight to sky divers at drop zones all over the world, but the boots were another matter. Attached to them were two small jet engines he hoped would propel him through the sky.

Parviainen climbed down onto a platform hanging on the outside of the basket and waited until the balloon reached the right altitude. Then he switched on the jets, scooted off and fell away.

For centuries before ungainly "aeroplanes" arrived on the scene, people tried to fly wearing wings more like those used by Icarus--with similarly dire results. Take, for instance, Eilmer of Malmesbury, "The Flying Monk" of the 11th century, who leapt from a monastery tower and reportedly flew for 240-odd yards before falling to the earth and breaking both legs. Or mathematician Giovanni Battista Danti of Perugia, who in the 15th century strapped on a pair of wood and feather wings, and flew over the town square before crashing into the roof of St. Mary's church and breaking a leg. Or the Grenoble surgeon Charles Bernouin, a more direct precursor of Parviainen's, perhaps, who in January 1672, wearing wings and a rocket, leapt from a tower and flew till he fell and broke his neck.

The invention of the airplane didn't end the quest for personal, birdlike flight. While Wright brothers forerunners such as Otto Lilienthal jumped from hilltops, a new breed of canvas-clad batmen soon began using the newfangled flying machines as launching pads. At best, the pioneers glided for a few seconds before deploying parachutes; at worst, they ended up dead. Batmen had their heyday in the '30s and '40s, but every decade since has had its practitioners. The art remained a largely lethal and futile endeavor until the mid-1990s, when a French sky diver named Patrick de Gayardon invented the ram-air wingsuit. Older wings typically consisted of a simple layer of cloth attached to poles along the arms. Like a modern parachute, Gayardon's equipment had two layers of fabric that formed long cells. These inflated during flight to create true airfoils. Gayardon, too, died in a crash: After more than 500 winged jumps, he accidentally sewed his parachute into its container while making modifications. By 2000, however, a company called BirdMan Inc. was selling wingsuits all over the world.

No matter how much they flit about the clouds, though, the birdmen only fly downward. The best of them achieve a glide ratio (forward movement to descent) of 2.5:1. Until birdmen evolve hollow bones and much longer arms, they won't rise without engines.

That's where model airplane jets come in. Over the past decade, companies such as Advanced Micro Turbines have made ever smaller, lighter and more powerful engines. Parviainen isn't the only wingsuiter to think of using the jets to increase his forward velocity and generate lift. But he was the first to brave the jets' flames and give it a try.

The engines couldn't be tested from a plane because they have trouble igniting in high winds. So Parviainen spent hours firing them while perched on a platform outside a balloon basket. For fuel tanks he had two hot-water bottles filled with kerosene stuffed inside his wingsuit. The bags collapse as the fuel is used, keeping air from mixing dangerously with the gas. During the flight, Parviainen planned to hold a dead man's switch: As soon as he let go to open his parachute the jets would cut off, preventing him from setting the canopy on fire.

"With this flight we had three goals," Parviainen told me. First, to see if he could get the equipment to work. Second, to learn if the jets were powerful enough. Finally, Parviainen was seeking the answer to a basic question: "Is it possible to handle this, or is it going to be a disaster?"

Disaster did not strike. After he turned on his jets and fell away from the balloon, Parviainen's wings filled with air and he started to glide. Before long, his jets were pushing him across the sky. "I started to follow my altimeter and I noticed already at 200 meters below the balloon, it started to be horizontal flying," Parviainen said. "After that I followed the altimeter approximately half a minute, with no real loss of altitude." That was it. Parviainen had just become the first person to fly more or less horizontally using nonrigid personal wings, no wider than his arm span, for a significant length of time. However many modifiers one needs to describe the feat, humans had come one step closer to the dream of birdlike flight.

Parviainen then tried to climb. As he raised his angle of attack, he felt his wings lose lift and he entered what could have been a deadly stall. But with more than 200 wingsuit jumps under his belt, Parviainen reacted instantly, diving to pick up speed and to let his wings regain their lift. He flew for a total of 2 minutes before opening his parachute.

Parviainen made several more flights before it became too cold. This summer, he plans to be back, using new engines with nearly double the thrust--30 kilos each. The primary goal is pure fun, but he also hopes to fly longer and to achieve enough lift to climb. Eventually, Parviainen may tackle one of the birdmen's last barriers: landing without a parachute. Once he has jets strong enough, he imagines taking off from a cliff. He'll have plenty of room to drop and open a canopy in case of trouble. But if all goes well, he will fly back to the cliff's edge to land.

Some will say he's crazy. But, he reasons, that's what they told him about using jets. "You know those people--they can't imagine how it's going to be possible. The truth is, when it's done, they say, 'Oh, it's done that way.'"

Winged Pioneers

Clem Sohn
In 1935 Sohn became the first man to jump from a plane wearing wings. Two years later, at an air show in Paris, Sohn died when his parachute and reserve failed to open.

Tommy Boyd

Boyd's career in the 1940s and '50s lasted longer than any other batwing jumper's. He attributed his success--and longevity--to the absence of any spars in his wings.

Tom Sitton
An aeronautical engineer, Sitton used single-layer batwings and ram-air wings of his own design. Now in his 60s, he is developing a set of semirigid wings.

Sky diver Visa Parviainen, perched outside the basket of a hot air balloon, prepares to test fire two tiny jet engines attached to his boots. His quest: to become the first person to achieve level flight while wearing a fabric wingsuit. PHOTOGRAPH BY JUGE HEIKKILÄ